


Strange Day

by Clarisse (transnymphtaire)



Series: Writing Style Experiments [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder, M/M, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Muggle Harry, Repaying Debt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 13:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10279226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transnymphtaire/pseuds/Clarisse
Summary: Harry didn't think that being unwilling to bleed to death would lead to anything except a missed day of work.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leontina (Leontina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leontina/gifts).



> Lovely Zillah sent me a prompt on Tumblr, and I liked my response so much that I re-wrote it.

When Harry woke up that morning, he expected his day to be as any other day: spent working in his uncle Remus’ flower shop until the late afternoon, when he had his apprenticeship in uncle Sirius’ combined tattoo and bike repairing studio - which more often than not consisted of Sirius giving him driving lessons. He had not expected to be cornered by a robber on his way to the flower shop.

Cornered by the perhaps not older, but certainly bigger robber, Harry couldn’t think of what to do. Years of knowledge from taking self-defence classes disappeared with the wind as the very real threat of getting stabbed made itself known.

“I don’t have any money,” Harry tried to explain, and went so far as to illustrate it by turning his pockets inside out. His cellphone and house-keys fell to the ground, and he was quick to swoop them both up before the robber could, but no wallet.

“Give me your money,” the robber insisted anyway, and stabbed Harry in the chest. He didn’t know why he had expected anything else to happen, but rather than bleeding to death on the street, Harry took to running. One hand made sure the knife stayed in his chest - he had read somewhere that it would keep the blood in - and the other hand tried to dial Remus’ number - not for help but to inform his uncle that he would be late to work.

The sound of the robber running after him made Harry throw away the phone in pure panic, thinking that it would make him run faster. If his speed increased, it was surely thanks to the adrenaline and nothing else, but Harry didn’t let such details bother him. He was quite literally running for his life, which had to take priority in his mind for the time being.

As he turned a corner, he saw the first other person that morning - besides from the robber. Not believing his luck - he could get some help! - Harry ran straight into the stranger and clung to their shirt with his free hand. His other hand was still busy keeping the knife in, and drenched in the blood that his over-sized sweater had soaked up.

“Help,” Harry started, very intelligently. “Help me, please! Please, please!”

As a rule, he disliked begging, but these were some very unfortunate circumstances in which he had no other choice. The stranger seemed to also hold a distaste for begging, if the look Harry got was any indicator. Definitely distaste for something. Dark eyes slowly took in the tear-tracks on his cheeks - and Harry couldn’t tell when he had started crying - and continued to the growing bloodstain on his sweater. The knife that was sticking out quite obviously probably helped fortifying his need for aid. Harry really hoped that the knife had miraculously missed his lungs, or he risked dying before any aid could be had.

“You’ll have to repay me,” the stranger warned him. The next thing Harry was aware of was the world going black and a hard pressure from all directions, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was what dying felt like. As the next thing he saw was white, he had a moment of being worried that he had just died on a stranger, until he realised that he was still gripping said stranger.

Harry had no idea how they could suddenly be in what essentially was a hospital, but teleporting came to mind. The thought soon disappeared as he takes in the people bustling around in strange robes, and how looks are drawn towards the stranger. If he’s bleeding out on an important person, he’ll kick himself. Perhaps not physically, but a mental attempt should be made at the very least. Before that though, he needs to get the knife out of his chest.

That was the moment a woman in green robes - that reminded him of the robes worn by fantasy characters in games and books - comes up to them and usher them into a room, while talking rapidly about minister this, minister that. Harry has no idea what she’s going on about, and he was also very distracted by the wooden stick that was being waved in his direction, as well as the lights that it produced. After they enter the room and he’s sat on a bed, there’s even more waving, lights, and even an awful-tasting drink that reminds him of what a potion must be like if potions were real. Whatever it is, it helps, which is really the only part he cares about.

Suddenly the room is empty, with the exception of him and the stranger. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he lost his sense of time along the way, since his mind still hadn’t completely traveled from the outskirts of London to the magical hospital room. Full mind or not, he did have one important question he needed to ask.

“Are you an wizard?”

The stranger’s lip twitched, as if it was fighting against a smile harder than necessary.

“Muggles,” the stranger sighed as if the word pained them greatly. “You’re a clever one, admittedly.”

“I’m Harry,” was Harry’s intelligent response, because what else could he possibly say to the real-life _wizard_ that just helped save his life?

“Riddle,” the stranger answered, and somehow the word minister was implied as well. “You owe me for this; random acts of kindness towards muggles are far from my style.”

“I don’t have any money…” Harry said slowly, as that was the only way to settle a debt that he knew of. If he had brought money with him, he wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

Riddle smiled, “That is not going to be a problem, Harry.”

Harry got the split-second impression that it would’ve been preferable to bleed out, but then it was gone and he smile tentatively at Riddle.

“How can I pay you back then?”

“Oh, I have something in mind…”

Yes, looking back at his day, Harry had never expected to be paraded around as the Minister of Magic’s muggle pet. It was dehumanising in multiple ways, but Riddle assured him that it would only be for a short period of time. What Harry had the most problem with was the shameless flirting mixed with the derogatory comments, they way it turned him on, and that the only communication method he was offered was an owl. He could only imagine the look on his uncles’ face when they got an owl informing them that he needed some time off from work.

Or he would’ve imagined it if he weren’t currently pushed against a wall, Riddle’s lips on his in the most interesting hate-kiss of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> It was hard to end, haha. Only slightly more plot than the original prompt response.


End file.
